


Eternity

by Strange_Omens (Strange_johnlock)



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: First Date, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, Idiots in Love, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Love Confessions, M/M, Making Love, Making Out, Mutal Pining, Oral Sex, Post-Season/Series 01, Romance, St. James's Park, Stargazing, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-12-21 15:18:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21077045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strange_johnlock/pseuds/Strange_Omens
Summary: Aziraphale is different after the Apocalypse.Happy.And as a former demon of Hell, Crowley has to be suspicious.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Amelia, for helping my transition into another fandom. Would recommend having an Amelia to all writers 10/10 <3 :)

Aziraphale is different. Well, Crowley knows that the angel has always been a bit different from other angels, and from the perspective of the humans been a queer fellow all along. It’s what Crowley found interesting from the beginning, from that day on the wall. Aziraphale was worth getting to know, worth knowing, and Crowley was just realising that in 6000 years he still doesn’t know him fully.

For a brief second Crowley wonders whether they found a way of replacing Aziraphale with some demon while he was downstairs, but then Crowley has never met a demon that was this cheery. If he thinks back, he has never met anyone this cheery, not even dolphins are that sprightly, and Crowley has hung out with quite a few very happy-tempered marine mammals. So, it couldn’t be a case of misplaced corporations.

Aziraphale hadn’t drastically changed. He was still himself. Just… different. More open, happier, bubblier. Crowley has seen this side of his best friend over the centuries, but so far, it only showed itself for a brief time, a moment shared between the two of them.

-The time he had tempted Crowley to Oysters-

-Seeing the Globe Theatre filled to the last seat, as Hamlet said his famous lines-

-Crepes, shared in a city red with aristocratic blood-

-The day the bookshop opened its doors-

-That time, when Crowley introduced him to Picasso-

Then, the angel’s face lit up, eyes and smile fighting over which shone the brightest, and Crowley had basked in those few moments when Aziraphale was without worries, before the latter conjured clouds, dampening the sparkle in blue eyes, tugging at the corners of the adorable mouth.

Now, for the past two weeks, Crowley has the pleasure of seeing that smile, those eyes constantly. He might look at Aziraphale’s face for the rest of his life without getting bored, which is scary in its own way. He does, for a few days, but then he got to wondering.

Aziraphale was cheerful. People noticed, and all the times Crowley came to the bookshop, it was buzzing with customers, which, to a certain point seemed to be related to a small sign in the shop window.

Opening Hours. Aziraphale’s bookshop had them now. ‘Monday to Friday, whenever I am in the mood,’ was scribbled onto a small sheet of paper in the angel’s flourish handwriting and Crowley chuckled at that every time he came to the bookshop, the doors opening to him at any wee hour.

Today, the former demon arrives about six, and there are seven people in the shop, walking around, sitting down with books in their laps and one elderly, bold, man is having a lively discussion with the owner himself. Day fifteen, and Aziraphale is still glowing, smiling eyes wandering to the door as Crowley enters and he could swear the smile grew even wider for a moment, before the angel turns back to the conversation.

Crowley doesn’t mind. He snoops around, smells some of the old books and finally sits down on a chair to watch the humans. None of them remember Atlantis, or the Kraken, none of them is aware that the world almost ended, and Crowley wonders whether he should feel like he is part of an exclusive club of very cool people or a band of misfortunes idiots. Doesn’t matter, either, because Aziraphale is on his side now. Not his, their side, Crowley reminds himself and bites back a smile. He might not be a demon anymore, not a real one, but smiling in public would be too much too soon.

They don’t have any plans for the evening, but when the customers leave, the angel closes the door with Crowley still inside the shop. They’ll be spending it together, then, Crowley thinks, like every other evening since the almost-apocalypse. And that is different, too. Sometimes, they spent decades apart, before meeting on accident and spending a few moments, a few hours in each other’s company. Now, there is no one they have to hide their partnership, their friendship from and they’ve been seeing each other on a regular basis. Crowley enjoys that very much.

Neither of them says a word as they sip their first glass of wine, the light patter of rain against the window making Crowley’s eyes slip shut behind his glasses. And that must be what feeling completely calm and comfortable feels like, Crowley thinks.

It’s horrid. In a good way.

Placing his glass on the floor in front of his chair, Crowley rests his arms on his thighs, leaning towards the angel with an inquiring look. For two weeks, he has been wondering, and now, there is no more wondering left in him. He wants to know.

“You’ve been spending more time working at the shop.” He states, not wanting to seem too curious, too eager, and settling for what seems to be the safer topic, for now.

He gets a small smile and Aziraphale looks to the door for a second. “I have.” He simply says and Crowley wants to get up and shake the answer out of him. Instead, he leans back, slouching in his chair, watching the man opposite him from over his sunglasses.

“It’s been a delight. People do enjoy books a lot.” The angel takes another sip of his wine.

“Well, that’s nothing new.” Crowley points out, with a flic of his hand into the space just in front of him.

“I know that, my dear. It’s just that …” He interrupts himself, carefully setting his glass down to buy himself some time to think. “Before, I always had to anticipate head office to have something to do for me, another blessing, another miracle. Not that I minded, but I could never make the shop my priority. Especially since Adam was born, of course. It’s always been just a hobby, but now that we averted the apocalypse with our incompetence, I can focus on it.”

He seems quite happy at that thought, as he smiles to himself and Crowley has to concentrate to conjure an image of that beloved face in the throes of any other emotion than pure delight. He’d deserve that. And maybe Crowley could be there to watch him be happy. He’d like that.

“And all that…” he waves his hand in the general direction of Aziraphale’s face. “… smiling has to do with you being a full-time bookseller?”

The angel tilts his head in thought, then straightens in his seat. For the first time in what seems to be ages, he is not smiling, his forehead wrinkled in thought. Great, now you ruined it, Crowley thinks, you’re always ruining it with all your questions. You could have just accepted it, but no, you had to doubt, to worry.

“Well, I wasn’t aware of ‘all that’.” Aziraphale gets up to stand aimlessly in the middle of the room. “But if I were to guess, I’d have to say that it is …” He worries at his hands, kneading the palm of his right hand with his left thumb, nervous somehow. “I can fully be myself, now, Crowley.” He whispers, and that puts another bright smile on his face.

And whatever Crowley was expecting Aziraphale to say, it wasn’t that. He gets up, too, mouth open in wonder.

“From the beginning, there has always been told to do good, to behave morally, to follow rules. I had to be the angel Aziraphale. I always felt guilty for liking food, or wanting to possess books, for being your friend. And now, I’m just me, Crowley. No more head office I have to please, have to hide from.” He tilts his head to look down at the floor, but can’t hide the grin from Crowley, who has stepped closer on instinct.

“I can do what I want, eat what I want, love who I want.” He looks up at that and those eyes are so bright, Crowley feels their gaze burning through his skin and right into his heart, small and meagre as it may be.

“And that makes me happy.”

Crowley raises an eyebrow. “I always thought you wanted to obey heaven.” He says, another step diminishing the space between them. Aziraphale has used yet another cologne, something flowery and sweet and Crowley wants to press his nose into the angel’s neck and breathe it in, lick the tender skin there.

“I did.” Aziraphale clears his throat, his face open. “Until I wanted you.”

It must be a few minutes, before his hand is the first part of Crowley’s body to regain function, reaching out to the angel and cupping his cheek. His brain, and he is proud to say that that one is neither small nor meagre, is unable to process what has just been said.

Yes, through 6000 years, he has both witnessed the affection between the two of them growing and also Aziraphale battling against it, not standing a chance.

But want, that goes beyond an innocent friendship and even though Crowley has always wanted, he’d never thought he’d get what he wanted, just because angels didn’t have that in their DNA. Of course, there was the angelic love for everything, from sister slug to brother pigeon, but want, desire, sexual love? No, that couldn’t be. Aziraphale was probably going to end this sentence differently.

“Until I wanted you as my very platonic best friend, almost a brother, or something.”

And then he panics, because he already has his hand on Aziraphale’s cheek, warm and soft, feels the smile against his thumb, and he is making it very obvious that he interpreted whatever Aziraphale said as a confession of love, even just for a second.

Shit, shit, shit. What if he ruined a friendship, now, just for that? Taking a deep breath, Crowley decides that attack is the best defence, now, because what other option does he have left except retreating, finding an excuse to leave and never bother his angel again? So, choosing his coolest voice, the one he always used when wanting to impress Aziraphale, he miracles his glasses away, and with the raise of an eyebrow says:

“Mind if I wiped that smile off your face then, with a kiss?” God, he wishes he still had that long hair. He always felt coolest with it half-tied back.

The angel huffs a surprised laugh, and only now does Crowley realise that he has been waiting for an answer for a small eternity, the last words hanging heavily between them.

“Until I wanted you.”

Now, the lines of worry melt away, and thin lips reveal white teeth, as the angel smiles, pressing his cheek closer into Crowley’s palm. “Oh, I think I can multitask.” He says, and isn’t that sassy?

“You’re the absolute worst at multitasking.” Crowley rumbles, his lips already giving in to the pull of Aziraphale’s mouth, his eyes never leaving his angel’s. “Should I remind you of the year 1246, when you…”

“Oh, do shut up.” Aziraphale says, but it is so soft, he might as well have whispered “Kiss me, please, dear boy.”

And so, Crowley does, rests his lips on his angels.

The world is black behind his eyelids, and Aziraphale is so bright. He pulls him close against him, feels the sturdy body against his lean one, and it is heaven to be able to feel Aziraphale, warm and soft, and hell at the same time, because he’ll have to let go at one point, if only to breathe.

As mouths meet over and over again, small kisses that are just enough on their own, but promise so much more. Crowley wants it all, wants Aziraphale in his arms and in his bed, under him, over him, but mostly he wants him in his life, wants quiet nights and small miracles, good wine and better conversation. He wants eternity, and would be happy with just a second, still. He’s wanted for so long, and only just learned how much he loves, is loved, and Crowley feels a smile tug at his own lips, as tears sting in his eyes.

Aziraphale is the one to pull back, but he doesn’t stray far, resting his forehead against the demon’s. “Will you go on a picnic with me?” The angel whispers, eyes still closed and Crowley watches his lashes flutter.

“Well,” Crowley moves his thumb over a pale cheek. “I was hoping for something more… intimate for a picnic.” He admits.

“Naughty.” Aziraphale says, but there is a glint in his eyes, as they slowly open. “There’s time for that, my dear. But first, I want to court you properly.”

“Court?” Crowley repeats, wanting to make sure he got that right, earning another kiss. “This is the twenty-first century, ‘Zira.”

A perfectly shaped finger follows the form of Crowley’s raised eyebrow. “I know. You deserve to be courted, no matter the century, my lovely man.”

Crowley knows he is blushing, hiding his embarrassment in a kiss, translating his fondness into touches of his lips and tongue in a language only the two of them understand.

“We have an eternity, Crowley. Let me take you on a picnic, first. Everything else will happen, when the time is right.”

And no matter how much Crowley wants his angel, wants him undressed and writhing on his bed and under the demon’s touch, he always wants him to be happy more. They’ll have their picnic, and Aziraphale will learn what it means to be himself, day by day, until he feels ready to live out his want for Crowley. With eternity ahead, Crowley is more than willing to wait. At least, the rational part of his brain does.

“Although I do hope for dessert.” Aziraphale looks up at him, innocently.

“Oh, you bastard.” Crowley snorts.

“Wait, where are you going?”

“Getting the bloody basket. We’re going to have a picnic.” Crowley calls over his shoulder, and he catches his angel smiling.


	2. Chapter 2

There is something different about his demon. He is still cool to the bone, cooler on a bad day than Aziraphale could be if he tried. He seems to have it written into his DNA, which the angel experienced on a very immediate level when they switched bodies for a while. Asking for a rubber duck, he would have never come up with that in his own soft little body. But Crowley’s corporation, all legs and swagger, made it so easy. It was almost fun, would have been if it hadn’t been a life or death situation and Aziraphale had wanted them to not die when they had finally found their way, their side.

Back to Crowley, he was different now, and that had nothing to with their kiss- the thought makes Aziraphale’s lips tingle in anticipation of the many more to come- or the shift in their relationship. Ever since the almost-apocalypse, there has been a certain melancholy in him. And Aziraphale can relate to that in a way. Being on their side, they have to find out what that means first. Maybe it’s easier to do bad things, or slightly bad things, than it is to always be good when you are trapped in a human body with human needs. Still, Crowley’s future is just as unsure, with no more duties and dangerous enemies above and below. His demon has always been a thinker, burdened with a doubting mind, as Aziraphale has watched him worry.

Now, his beloved face is wonderfully relaxed, as he watches the stars and Aziraphale snuggles just a bit closer. It was a miracle that they were the only people in St. James’s Park, on this mild, cloudless night.

“They are beautiful.” The angel whispers, knowing how adorably proud the former angel is of his part in placing them in the sky. Even in the dark, he can see the blush on Crowley’s cheeks and he presses his lips to the reddening skin.

And then, for a while, they don’t say a word, a long arm wrapping around the angel’s body, as they look up into the darkest blue, seeking the other’s warmth in small touches that seem inescapable, now that they have started.

“Do you think it will ever get lonely? eternity, i mean” He asks, not knowing where the words are coming from, as the demon turns his head, ember eyes softly glowing in the darkness of the night. “I think that's why I love books. They are humanity's immortality, I think. And they’ll be all we have in the long run. Everyone else, they’ll just have eighty years, if they’re lucky. Shadwell, Miss Tracy, Anathema… Adam. Well, he might be the exception.” He takes Crowley’s hand in his to kiss the long fingers. “Well, I just wanted you to know that I will never get bored of you, so you can stop worrying.”

“How…?”

“I’ve known you for 6000 years, you lovely man.” He kisses the thumb, then the palm and they fall back into the comfortable silence only shared by people who know each other inside and out, when words are redundant.

They didn’t talk much during their picnic, trading smiles and sharing bites of those little pastries Aziraphale loves so much. There had even been Champagne, and strawberries. And Aziraphale has learned that those taste even better on his demon’s lips.

Kissing, is the opposite of what Aziraphale expected, it doesn’t appease one’s hunger but awakens a deeper longing within him for kisses pressed to pale skin, the warmth of a body pressed to his. Aziraphale wants every sigh, every caress, wants to express with touches what words can’t say, even if a few books of his have come close. There is just one problem.

“Crowley?”

“Yes, Angel?” And isn’t that rumble in his voice the most brilliant thing he’s ever heard?

“I have to admit, that even though I know about the theory of baking, I have never made dessert myself.” He turns his face into the demon’s neck to hide his blush, it’s embarrassing that from the first moment of human existence he has always just witnessed lust and never thought about sex himself.

“Have you…” Crowley turns his head and his nose brushes against the angel’s temple. “Ever had dessert? By yourself, I mean?”

And Aziraphale thinks back to those nights, those lonely, quiet nights when the thought of Crowley had kept him warm, when his hand had slipped under his duvet on its own accord. God had given them bodies to explore, after all, and minds to think.

At least, that is what he told himself after, to calm his guilty conscious.

“I have, once or twice.” He admits, knowing that Crowley will know this to be an understatement.

“And could you imagine having dessert with me?” The demon shakes his head. “Bullocks, we’re adults. Angel. Is sex something you want to try? With me? Because I very much want to, but am more than willing to wait until you are ready. Or not, if it’s just not your thing.” It burst out of him.

“I want you.” Aziraphale simply says, lifting his head to look into serpentine eyes. And god, the effect those words have on his demon’s face, the lovely expression they pull it into. There is no choice but to kiss him, more passionate than all the kisses before.

Crowley tastes of strawberries and Champagne, and a bit occult, which plays into the angel’s addictive nature. Kissing is better than Sushi, better than Crepes, better than books even, and Aziraphale wonders how many decades in a row they could just spend with lips against lips, sliding against the other’s mouth, tongues dipping in and retreating, their dance slow and sensual.

“And I, you.” Crowley whispers, his nose resting against Aziraphale. “Not just want, either. ``I love you.”

They both pull back a bit to look at each other. “I love you, too.” Aziraphale mirrors those important words. “I have for so long. And I’m sorry for being a coward, all those years.”

In a whirl of movement, he is pulled to his feet and enveloped into a tight hug. “Let’s not think about that now. Let’s just … be.”

Aziraphale hasn’t ever agreed to something Crowley has said more, and he shoves those dark thoughts, the guilt, deep down into his mind, making way for a future that is bright, and that they will share for an eternity.

“Home?” He asks, because there is nothing left to say, no more time to waste.

“Home.” Crowley agrees.


	3. Chapter 3

“How can there be so many layers on just one person?” Crowley huffs as he shrugs the light-blue shirt off his angel’s shoulders. This gaze travels down from kiss-bitten lips to broad shoulders and a chest covered in red splotches of arousal. His angel is gorgeous, every inch revealed glorious, chubby perfection and Crowley, for the first time in his life, wants to worship a body with his tongue and lips. He wants to suck the tiny nobs of his nipples into his mouth, bite at the delicious hips and bury his nose in that belly, be surrounded by the smell and softness of Aziraphale.

“It’s the sushi.” A tiny voice says, and Crowley’s eyes shot up. His angel must have misinterpreted his silence, his hungry gaze. How dare he think that Crowley would find him anything but perfect? The demon wants to shake him, yell at him, until he believes, but that has never gotten him far with his best friend. He tried multiple times.

Instead, he pulls the angel close, their chests flush against each other, and tilts his hips just so. “This, angel, is what you do to me.” He hisses, followed by a curse as his hard cock brushes against a trouser-clad thigh.

Returning to the bookshop, Aziraphale had immediately pulled him upstairs to the flat. The wine they had planned on drinking had shattered on the floor between them, as kisses turned from gentle to desperate within moments, greedy hands pulling at soft cotton and fiery hair. Crowley had barely held back from miracling their clothes away, never the patient one, but the thought of slowly undressing his angel, by somebody, that was worth the wait.

Now, embarrassment makes way to first surprise, then a fierce wave of arousal as the angel realises what Crowley is trying to say. “Oh, my dear.” He breathes, pulling Crowley into another kiss, and that clever tongue is driving the demon mad.

“Darling?”

“Hmm.” The demon’s hums, his lips smearing kisses against Aziraphale’s jaw and neck. His angel always smells a little bit of old books, of comfort, and that is surprisingly compatible with the sparks of lust pulsing through his body.

“How do we get from this to… sex? I mean, yes, undressing, but… how do we decide what to do?” And that’s the thing. Aziraphale trusts him to know, when Crowley just doesn’t have a clue. For a brief moment, he considers faking it till they make it, but Aziraphale has been so open with him, has laid his soul bare and he deserves his partner’s honesty. He wonders, if being a demon, it is expected of him to have had at least a lover in every decade, if that is what his angel beliefs. A creature of sin in a man’s body, no one would have blamed him if he did. But then, humans have rarely been interesting enough, especially in comparison to a certain occult – no, celestial- being.

“Well, I’m not entirely sure. In theory, we just follow our bodies lead, until that ends up in orgasm.” He says against Aziraphale’s shoulder, leaving shallow indents of his teeth on the soft skin.

As realisation dawns on the blonde’s face, Crowley is pulled tighter against a broad chest. “I shouldn’t have assumed.” Soft kisses are pressed into his hair in irregular intervals.

“My mouth did inspire a few people.” Crowley admits, not looking up at his angel. “I saw no need to progress any further.”

The sound his angel makes is pure sin escaping a bobbing throat. “Your mouth.” He repeats, in awe, and Crowley knows without hesitation, that they both want exactly the same in this moment. Pulling back, slowly, not wanting to stray from that lush mouth, he reaches down to fumble with the last button parting him from where he wants to be. Old-fashioned trousers give way to dark-blue boxer briefs which do wonders for the angel’s arse and Crowley’s hands are cupping the round buttocks before he can even think about it.

“Show me,” Aziraphale sighs. “Please.” And it is all Crowley needs to drop to his knees. There is a dark spot tinting the soft cotton, and he feels the angel twitch against him as he pressed his face to it, inhaling deeply.

“Oh, my dear boy.” The angel moans, and fingers find their way into the demon’s hair, not tugging, just resting there. “My darling man.”

Those words send the last remaining ounces of blood downwards and Crowley feels dizzy with lust and the smell of Aziraphale’s arousal filling his nose. All of the sudden, he can’t be quick enough, and the briefs disappear into thin air.

The cock, that almost pokes his eye out as a result, is wonderfully girthy and pink, and Crowley let’s it rest against his lips for a moment, before he pulls the head between his lips.

The taste of his angel almost overwhelms him, musky and raw, and, like every part of Aziraphale, somehow sweet. Greedy for more, he sucks at the tender flesh, letting it sink further into his mouth. His hands are still kneading at the plumb flesh of the blonde’s arse, and the angel seems unsure which sensation he wants to feel more, hips slowly rocking back and forth, his cock filling Crowley’s mouth more and more with every sway.

Being a serpent, Crowley thinks as the tip of his nose brushes against the tender flesh, has some advantages.

“Oh, Crow…” Aziraphale’s voice sounds ruined, husk with pleasure and on his first pull back, Crowley’s tongue is rewarded with a first gush of precum. “Oh, my dear… you… oh…”

has ever an angel begged so wonderfully with a demon at his feet?

Bobbing his head, Crowley forces his eyes open to look up into lust-darkened eyes, the angel’s lids heavy and his pink mouth hanging open. Beautiful. Gorgeous. Celestial.

His own neglected cock throbs in his pants, where it is still trapped, but Crowley is happy to ignore it in favour of licking up and down the most prominent vein of the angel’s erection, before he pulls it back into his mouth.

He is worshipping his angel, and the praise falling from the blonde’s lips is slowly taking him apart, every word hitting him right in the chest, making him feel loved and appreciated.

“Oh, so good. You’re brilliant, my dear. I’ve never felt so good. Hmm, my dear, perfect boy.”

Crowley catches himself pushing his hips up into nothing in a desperate attempt to create friction.

“Darling, please… stop.” The angel’s voice is dark, desperate and the demon pulls off with a pop. “So close, Crow, so close already.” He reaches out for him and the taller man hurries to his feet to kiss swollen lips. Their kiss tastes of Aziraphale, of sex, and Crowley cups his neck to pull them as close together as possible.

“Together, please.” The angel begs, their lips barely leaving room for the words, and Crowley drags at the zips of his leather pants, his cock springing free.

“Come here.” He moans, wrapping long fingers around the two of them. He tugs in a quick, desperate rhythm, enjoying the drag of Aziraphale’s cock against his own, wet and leaking at the head.

“Oh, you brilliant man.” Soft words fall from even softer lips and Crowley kisses them away, as he pulls and squeezes, driving them slowly mad. “Can I do something for you?”

“Next time.” Crowley only has the breath left for those brief words, as his body is about to explode in fire and flame. Yes, he wants to give his angel the time to explore his body, to let him try, experiment, but right now, 6000 years of pent-up desire are about to erupt. “Just… oh…” He left the sentence unfinished in favour of kissing his angel hard and fast.

Arms wrap around his neck, as Aziraphale gets on his tiptoes to find the perfect angle, and Crowley holds them both upright, as he drags his palms up and down their pulsing erections.

There is no more insecurity about what to do, what could go wrong. And maybe it is due to years, decades, millennia of friendship that they can give in to what they want without a doubt. And Crowley’s heart grows to twice its size inside his chest, so filled with love for his angel that it almost overwhelms him. As the organ in his chest can only metaphorically burst, it is another part of his body that explodes, just moments after Aziraphale screams out his own orgasm, wetting their bellies with robes of cum.

His world goes black for a moment, all sensation focused to that small part of him, stars dancing behind his eyes. Creating the stars and making love to his angel, those are the only things he has ever done worth mentioning and the demon feels tears prick in his serpent eyes.

Love, and being loved. He never thought he’d have that. And now, he has the most wonderful man in his arms, breathing heavily and smiling up at him.

They just so manage the few steps to the bed, collapsing into the soft mattress and Crowley pulls his angel tightly against his chest, lips never straying far from warm skin. The world, which has been holding its breath, slowly starts moving again.

“You know, I was wrong about one thing.” Aziraphale says after a while, eyes opening to look at Crowley. “I thought I’d finally learned what happiness was, after the world didn’t end.” He smiles and brushes a kiss against the demon’s cheek. “But with you, I’ll get to learn what it really means, day to day, until eternity.”

“Eternity.” Crowley repeats, throat tight with emotion.

**Author's Note:**

> First smut in this fandom. What do you think?


End file.
